You and I
by NinnyTreetops
Summary: A growing drabble- and ficlet- dump with an admittedly uninspired title. Canon-compliant and OBHWF-centric. Because that's how I roll. Rating to be safe, because Weasleys swear. Fact.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am a Design Graduate in a 30 square metre flat. JKR wrote a wonderful story and now rightfully dwells in a castle. You do the maths.

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**Sunset**

Hermione dragged herself up to the castle, exhaustion pulling on her stiff shoulders. She had just spent 4 hours tending – well, wrestling with – a devil's snare. Worth it, considering that she had then blasted it into oblivion. The plant had slithered a tentacle around her neck, her instincts had overreacted and a quick dash of her wand decorated the walls of the greenhouse with the remnants of the only devil's snare that had survived the battle.

Ginny had shouted „You go girl!", Prof. Sprout had been close to tears over the loss, and the majority of the class had eyed her like she was going to smite one of them next.

As she neared the front gates, yet another group of students felt the compulsion to stare. Two months of this, and Hermione was good and well fed up with it. She missed Harry and...

„Oi midgets! Take a photo: last you longer!"

...Ron.

The younger students rushed inside, and Hermione turned around to the very welcome sight of a particular ginger Auror Trainee.

Without another word she walked over, wrapped her arms around him, buried her nose in his chest and inhaled deeply.

„Hey." He whispered as he drew her closer into his cloak.

„Hey yourself." She mumbled into the fabric of his turtleneck.

They stood in the fading daylight, students rushing past them for dinner.

„Better?" Ron asked after a while.

„Much." She answered, squeezing a little tighter.

„Care to go inside?"

„No."

„Okay..."

The last rays of sunlight disappeared behind a distant mountain range.

„... but I hear it's Roast-Chicken-night."

„I knew you had an agenda." She said, finally smiling.


	2. Chapter 2 – Chilly

Preperations were in full swing as Harry plopped down next to Ron on the wooden fishing dock.

„Hey mate, look, I'm putting the final version of my vows down." Ron said, waving several loose sheets for emphasis. „So, whatever it is, it has to wait untill..."

„Okay, Weasley, listen up!"

Ron looked up, one eybrow raised. „Excuse me?"

But Harry continued, shoulders squared, completely unfazed.

„Look, Hermione is my sister..."

Another ginger eyebrow joined ist companion. „Really?"

Harry' posture deflated, exasperated.

„Well, yes, Ron. Or do you see anybody else giving you the fraternal pre-wedding verbal smackdown?" he exclaimed.

Ron was looking on in amazement. „Allright..."

„And as her brother, I want you to know: You may be my best friend, but if you hurt her – and I don't mean the stupid arguments which are some twisted foreplay to you – if you ever really hurt her." He dropped his voice to its most menacing: „I WILL. Make. You. Pay."

Silence fell.

Then, with a shove and a splash, Harry fell. Into the pond.

Ron crouched grinning above him as he came up for air.

„Wow, that was really impressive. Scarface and his voice of evil. Chills down my spine."

Harry glared at him. „What was that for?"

„What, you still need to ask?"

„Well, I meant it." Harry huffed, futily trying to point an emphatic finger as he tread water.

Ron extended a hand to help him out. „I do. And I appreciate it. Tosser."

...

„Harry, whatever it is, not now. My crazy bint of a mother... Harry, you're dripping all over the carpet."

„Okay, Granger, listen up!"

...excuse me?"


	3. Chapter 3  September 1st

_Disclaimer: If HP were mine... everything would've turned out the way it has. Huh. Well, I would've put the Inferi to more use, frankly. Marching corpse army of your murdered friends? Highly effective. Just sayin'. So there. Look at your copies of DH. No Inferi Armies? Means it's not mine, and I neither intent to nor ever will make any money from it. Onwards._

**03: September 1st**

The Auror headquarters were a humming hive of industrious chaos.

And Captain Weasley was poking it with a stick.

„Wilkins, if you do not locate a 10th member for the Hogwarts Express guard, I will personally put a permanent sticking charm on your backside and affix it to the bloody train! Not _now_, Dennis."

Drawing himself up in the middle of the room he adressed his subordinates „Look, Gentlemen, Ladies: Could we all remember that it is of the utmost importance to get the children to school safely today? Some of Riddle's cronies are still out there. And while I like to entertain the thought that they have been pulverised during one of the battles, let's not get our hopes up. Thank you. ... what is it, Dennis?"

Dennis Creevey had fallen into step next to Ron.

„Sir, I have a message from your wife."

„Know what, Dennis? Seeing as that same wife was supposed to be on maternity leave for two weeks now, please let the esteemed head of your office know that from now on, I will pretend that she has done as the healers have told her to and assume that she is not in the building."

„Oh, she is not in the building, sir. Her waters broke."

Ron stopped short.

„But, but the baby wasn't due for another month!"

„Maybe you should have made your son better aware of that fact, sir."

* * *

„Did I mention that I told you so?"

„Shuttup, Ron. I got it."

„'course you did." Ron grinned as he turned his attention to the newborn son in his arms.

„September 1st, huh? Sucks to be you."


	4. Chapter 4  Gathering troops

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be mine._

**Gathering Troops**

Hugo hit the bottom of the marble staircase and bit his tongue.

Hogwarts wasn't shaping up as „Awesometastic" as everybody had promised it would.

„Had a nice trip, Nerd?" asked Robert Watkins loudly, brandishing a book that had been in Hugo's hands moments before. His cronies snickered appreciatively. Ah, they were already beginning to cherish their morning sesssions of Pound-the-Nerd. How was it that they were at school barely two weeks, and the jerk had already built up his own following?

„He smells the fear, sissy." James had said.

„You're an obvious victim, Dork Lord." Dominique had sniggered.

„Welcome to school." Molly had sighed

Dabbing at his mouth, Hugo got up off the floor. To his delight, an audience had already formed. It felt something like the whole bloody school. He concentrated on trying to make his voice clear and firm.

„Give it! It's my mum's!". Great, Hugo. Squeaky _and_ mentioning your mum. That'll teach him.

„Aw, does icklekins want his Mummy's bookie back? His posh Ministry Mum's posh book?" taunted Watkins, dangling it in front of Hugo by just a few pages clasped in a hand just a bit too hairy not to be discomforting on an eleven year-old.

Hugo balled his fists.

„If you break it, I'll kill you." Better. Menacing, with a hint of psych-ward.

Watkins laughed.

„You and what army?"

„The Red Army, you desease-ridden fleck of wank!"

Hugo would know that voice anywhere. Mostly because it usually hurled its eloquent insults his way. Exclusively. He glanced over his shoulder, and there was Rose, wearing a glare to make their mum proud, Al and Scorpius right at her side.

„Any more Weasleys reporting to duty?" she called back into the Great Hall.

„Sure!"

„Absolutamente!"

„Hell yes!"

„Did someone say arse-whoopin'?"

One by one, Hugo's cousins filled the doorway, filtered from the crowd and pushed down the stairs through the early morning bustle.

„Woa! Don't forget the Potters!" James called as he came strolling over to take his position, munching on a bit of toast.

„Nor the Scamanders!"

Squeaked Lorc and Lys, emerging to stand right behind Hugo.

„And a Malfoy. Go on, – Watkins, was it? We're waiting." Scorpius crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows expectedly.

Yes, the whole school was assembled, indeed. And about half of it fought over the last bit of Christmas Pudding at the Burrow each year.

Watkins stood, transfixed.

„Yeah, didn't think so.", leered James. „Now piss off, shitsquirt. If you touch him again, I'll be the first to pound some pretty into that face of yours. Only the first, mind."


	5. Chapter 5 Home for the Hols

Disclaimer: We, the escapist people of the HP fandom, pledge that none of the Characters or affiliated trademarks of Harry Potter belong to us. That's JK Rowling's marvelous spot in the universe, and WB rides along on the genius. None of us makes even a single penny from this. That includes me. If you were to sue, the most you could get out of me would be a MacBook and three IKEA Billie Bookracks filled double-file. Trust me: not worth it. No harm meant, not money made.

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**Home for the Hols**

Dawn crept into the bedroom.

A crash sounded from the kitchen. Hermione twitched awake, and received a kiss to the nape of her neck. An arm snuck around her waist.

"Mmmmhh, I am going to pretend this woke me, rather then the ululations of shattering china, 'kay?", she sighed.

"Big words first thing in the morning. Just what a guy wants." Ron murmured into her hair, pulling her closer.

Two voices were now doing unspeakable things to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Rheindeer" in the kitchen.

"Merry Christmas", he whispered against her mouth.

An air of mischief tipped her off a split-second before his grip tightened and he raked his stubbly chin all the way up her exposed neck and past her ear to her temple. She squealed, squirmed away and turned in his arms, smiling lips meeting for a second kiss.

"Merry Christmas." she returned, her thumb stroking his pulse.

"How long have they been at it?" she asked, jerking her head towards the bedroom door, which did nothing to keep out the smell of sizzling sausages.

"About an hour now. Christmas Breakfast coming up any minute."

"Somebody's getting antsy for Rosie's waffles." she smiled.

"Obviously. I swear to Merlin, they get better every year."

"Hm. Think we should go down and help?"

"And break with tradition?" he scoffed. "Never. Plus, the floor is probably colder than a witch's tit."

A particularly off-key patch of "Rudolph" rang clearly through the awkward silence in the bedroom.

His ears flushed red. Her eyebrow soared to unknown hights.

"You, mate, spent far too much time with my father."

He shrugged.

"Somebody has to help the man put up his eclectic decorations."

"Electric. And if the atrocious scene in our lawn is anything to go by, I daresay you rather enjoy the stuff." she said, sitting up.

"It's not christmas without a group of blinking "elves", Hermione."

"If they vanish, I'll let you test out that theory of yours regarding the magical female physique. Thoroughly."

He scooted closer, unaware of the ever louder growing singing and the stomping footsteps down the hall.

"An interesting proposition, Mrs Weasley…."

"INCOMING!"

The mattress bounced wildly as the door burst open and Rose and Hugo flung themselves into the middle of the bed, a laden breakfast tray hovering behind them.

"Merry Christmas!" they shouted, haphazardly handing out hugs.

"Man," Rose exclaimed as she wedged herself between her parents "Isn't it brilliant to have the clan together for the Hols?"

"Yeah", Hugo supplied. He was trying to balance a plate while yanking the covers over his lap at the foot of the bed. "You must be bored out of your minds with just the two of you around."

Ron scowled and rubbed the spot where his collarbone had made an acquaintance with his daughter's elbow.

"Yeah. Nothing interesting going on in this room. Ever."

Hermione's cushion caught him square in the face.


	6. Chapter 6 Glowing Mothers

_Disclaimer: Really? Deduct the obvious, will ya?_

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**Glowing Mothers**

"Hermione, you're a vision! I like what you've done with your hair, all… piled up and that lovely natural _wave_ to it. Why, you're positively glowing."

"Funny. Found your true calling at Clown College, did you? Let me get him for you… RON!"

"_Christ, Hermione!_ I was _this_ far away from you howling go… your beautiful face. Love the shirt."

"Hm, lovely isn't it? My tit of a best friend got it for me. Nothing says "I love you" like a "Does this baby make me look fat?"-print."

"You're wearing it, though. Goes beautifully with those gorgeous flannel jim-jams. Bit tight 'round the hips, though."

"You're just lucky I'm afraid of touching my wand because of the incident."

"Those poor, innocent textbooks. Accidental magic is a witch. Here, I brought you something. Just so Ron and I aren't the only ones downing pints tonight."

"Chocolate Therapy? _And_ Dublin Mudslide? Oh, I truly, deeply love you. In fact, I want you to leave your wife. We could make it work. It's what the press wants."

"The press is delusional. And more than a bit scary. As are you."

"thorry."

"Merlin, can we swallow before the speak? Where DID that spoon come from, anyways?"

"You don't want to know."

"Is this what it has come to, Hermione?"

"I know, right? Frankly, I cannot wait for reason to return. Though, looking at Ginny, I'm afraid the damage might be permanent."

"Hey!"

"Hormones, Harry."

"Five Galleons says she'll turn out to be a crier."

"... I hate your scarred face."

"I know you do."

"Tosspot."

"Hag."

"Harry, mate, seriously: I know it's fun, but stop provoking my crazy wife."

"I hate you both."

"_We know you do_."


	7. Chapter 7 Good Luck

_Disclaimer: not mine. Never was, never will be._

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**#7: Good Luck**

„Why the nervous lip-biting?"

The young blond witch smiled up at Senior Strategic Commander in Charge Ronald Weasley from her seat and motioned towards the door to her right.

„I've got an interview for apprenticeship in there any minute now. I've read up on all the majour cases of the past 200 years, witnessed some via Pensieve and reviewed recent bill additions. Not to mention I've practically popped a vessel to scrape all the NEWTs I could sooo. ... If my competition wasn't an upity little tosser with an opportunistic father in the department, there'd be no reason to be nervous."

Ron blinked.

The girl blushed.

„Sorry. I shouldn't rant. I _always_ rant. Didn't mean to keep you."

„Don't fuss. Should be used to it by now. You remind me of my wife, actually."

„Yeah?" The girl smiled crookedly.

„Yeah. Hermione."

„Beautiful name."

„She's a beautiful woman. And quite the looker, too."

He winked. Quite charmingly so.

„What's your name, young'un?"

„Hermione."

He grinned smugly.

„Oh really?"

„Yup. It's a family name." She grinned back.

„I see. Another one of the great-great-great-grand-somethings. You _did_ seem familiar. Strange how these things pull through, eh? Rosie's branch, I take it? It's just that you have those creepy piercing Malfoy eyes. In a lovely way, obviously", he hastened to add.

„Well spotted."

The door next to her opened.

„Next!"

She smiled at Ron.

„A great pleasure to finally meet the legend."

„Just because I creamed my teen-aged pants in a war does not mean I'm a legend, kid."

„Who's talking of wars?" She retorted in mock surprise. „I was referring to the 37 chocolate frogs on Christmas Eve 2026. Four Generations down the road, we still try to bust that one every year." She hesitated at the door. „Wish me luck."

She watched as Ron he winked again and walked out of his frame.

_"To days to come."_

_"All my love to long ago."_

_-Doctor Who, "Timecrash"-  
_

A/N: (I think I've just out-nerded myself with that quote. Well, we must always strive for new horizons.)


	8. Chapter 8 Robes

_Disclaimer: You will be utterly baffled to find that Harry Potter and all its affiliated trademarks, action figures, softdrinks and soul-ownership deals do not belong to me, a mid-twenties student. Le shock. I also make no money from it. Nor do I plan to in the future. Which might also explain why I don't **have** any money._

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**Ch. 8 - Robes**

Hugo Weasley jumped as a door flew open and spewed out a tall man, darkly mumbling to himself.

It was a familiar sight to Hugo, so he simply offered his Greetings.

„Dad..." he grinned.

Ron looked up at him. Relief chased surprise off his face, only to be ushered away by a cheerful grin.

The latter worried Hugo.

„Hugo! Just the man I was hoping to see today" He came over to give his son a hug. Pulling back, he gave Hugo the once over.

„So, how's your day? The Prophet running you ragged? Lot of coursework for tomorrow's lectures?"

Hugo took a tentative step backwards. His smiling father followed.

„Dad, I'm only here to check up facts for a feature and..."

„Son, I'm dying, here!"

„Surely a ministry review meeting isn't that bad..." Hugo smiled.

„I've been in there for eight hours! _Eight_. _Hours_. So..."

With a flourish, Ron retrived a bottle from inside his robes and shook it in Hugo's face, grinning.

„...off with the robes!"

„...Dad! I'm not taking your place! Remember last time? Mum served us our balls on a plate."

„Hugh, if you don't do this for me – again – I won't love you anymore. Besides: your mother isn't even in the country. It's foolproof!"

The door burst open again.

„Ron, make Percy shut up! Please!" Harry moaned, melodramatically clasping the front of his best mate's shirt and giving him a little shake . „Oh, hey Hugh..." his eyes fell on the flask in Ron's hand. It was as if the sun had just risen on his face.

„Brilliant! Give me five to drag Al out of his sad little cubicle, and the two of us are off to the Magpies match! Right, Books?"

The head and Deputy of the Auror Department looked at Hugo beseechingly.

Hugo sighed and conjured two shot glasses („That's ma boyyy!") as receptacles for the polyjuice.

„You two owe me. Big time. Get Al."

Harry fist-pumped and went off at a mad dash towards Muggle Relations.

Ron put his arm around his son's shoulder.

„Son of the year. Now, let's go get me my spare change of robes. AND double check your mum's travel dates with her assistant."


	9. Chapter 9 Christmas Reunion

_Disclaimer: You will be utterly baffled to find that Harry Potter and all its affiliated trademarks, action figures, softdrinks and soul-ownership deals do not belong to me, a mid-twenties student. Le shock. I also make no money from it. Nor do I plan to in the future. Which might also explain why I don't **have** any money._

* * *

**Ch.9 Christmas Reunion**

„ Brilliant, you really arsed it up! Where are we?"

That charming screech makes me notice the two children. I take a closer look and realise that the girl is at best the age of my own son. Eight. The boy is blubbering. They are quite alone. In Regents Park. In the dark. Which of course would be none of my blasted problem if only I could make that vision of my irritatingly earnest son disappear. Staring. Judging. Yes, son, look at „Daddy" ruining his perfectly nice argentinian hand-sewn leather loafers in the wintry park muck to help two navigationally challenged mu...ggle brats. I am almost at their doubtlessly dense side, when somebody apparates into thin air a few paces ahead of me, the blast of shifted air knocking me over backwards onto my... well. Cursing my altruistic intentions, I watch the mother swoop in over her brood.

„Hugo! Rose! Thank God! What happened?"

„I don't know! That Santa really scared me..."

„... genius here decided to spontaneously disapparate. And the tosser was clutching my arm as he did."

„I am not a tosser! And I don't even know how to do it! It was an accident!"

The woman pinches the bridge of her her nose.

„What do we always tell you two about controlling your urges? Your father and I were worried sick!"

„Dad knows?"

She waggles a silver lighter – a fine one, admittedly – in her left hand.

„I had to go and get the Deluminator. I expect he has half the Auror department in a tizzy by now."

The children groan. A sneaking suspicion creeps up on me as I watch her try in vain to tame either child's hair in a display of maternal fussing, her own uncontrolable _pelt_ escaping what most likely are half a million pins. Quitely as I can, I try and retreat.

„I'll send word that I've got you."

She turns around to send off a patronus into the night air, and naturally the stupid thing charges right towards me. Once it is close enough to illuminate my face I recognise its shape and all dreads are confirmed. Fan-fucking-tastic. Granger.

„Draco Malfoy?" she scowls. And fails to lower her wand. Lovely. Her son peers around her legs.

„Draco? Now, that's a dumb name."

I look up from gathering my belonings. „Delightful of you to cast the first stone, _Hugo_." I sneer.


	10. Chapter 10 Regrets

Disclaimer: I am a Design Graduate in a 30 square metre flat. JKR wrote a wonderful story and now rightfully dwells in a castle. You do the maths.

* * *

Ch. 10: Regrets

„I can hear you thinking." Ron's voice rumbled through the dark bedroom; quiet, solid.

He could hear Hermione inhale deeply. The mattress shifted a bit as she rolled over onto her back, covers rustling.

„I'm sorry..." she mumbled. Something brushed his shoulderblade, which meant that she was probably rubbing her forehead just now.

„What is it?" he ventured.

„Oh... nothing."

Ron wondered when the first scowl lines would permanently make themselves comfortable on his forehead and rolled over onto his back. Straightening down the blankets across his chest he made his wakefulness known.

„Hermione..." he sighed. Glancing over, he spied her profile against the window. The streetlight outside their bedroom had been broken for over a week now, and so he felt more than saw her chewing her bottom lip. Good thing neither of them needed much light to know when the other was staring them down. Thus, she relented.

„I'm worried."

Ron crossed his arms behind his head.

„Yeah, I'd gathered as much." His foot wandered over to make contct with her shin. „What about?"

She turned over on her side to face him, hands tucked under her head.

„Rosie."

„Ah." His right arm uncurled between pillows and headboard, behind her head, his fingers tangling into the ends of her hair.

„Why though, Mi? You wanted her to go to muggle primary school. Frankly, I was expecting a parade in the morining, or at the very least a dance routine on the joys of learning." Her chuckle was worryingly shaky. He rolled over to face her, as well. She was looking right at him and this up close, he could see tears pooling in her eyes.

„They'll hate her." She choked out. „She's too much like me. They'll hate her."

Images of masses of brown hair and a mouth endlessly spouting information behind bucked teeth came rushing back at him. Wrapping his wife up in his arms, he shuddered as he thought of what he would do to a daft little ginger shit calling his daughter – his tiny, gold-hearted daughter – a nightmare.

„I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

iA/N: That's right. I used a nickname. It won't pop up often. Trust me./i


	11. Chapter 11 Tea

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not ever. Good thing, too. Probably couldn't write anything as good, and I liek having these character sin my life. No money being made.

* * *

**Capter 11 - Tea**

"Tea?"

Hermione set the cup and saucer down on a side table and took a seat on the overstuffed footstool next to Arthur's armchair, propping her elbow up on his armrest. The bustle of Molly and the in-laws in the kitchen and the hustle of the Weasley children and Grandchildren flattening each other in the Annual Start of Summer Quidditch Clash drowned out the sounds of a settling home.

"Thank you, sweet pea. I'll let it settle a bit.", Arthur said, barely glancing up from his newspaper.

Hermione smirked.

"It's firewhiskey, Arthur."

The Daily Prophet went flying.

"Molly?" An inquisitive glance over his glasses towards the door.

"Busy with the turkey for at least another hour." Hermione settled down on the ottoman to Arthur's right, smoothing down the pleats of her skirt.

Arthur smacked his lips appreciatively after the first sip.

"Mmmhh, this is why you've always been my favourite."

"Better not let the others hear that."

"Too right. No use in pointing out the obvious."

"Naturally."

Hermione smiled as she fished for the discarded paper. Arthur stopped her with a hand on her forearm and another glance around.

"This might be the last moment the two of us get to ourselves in half a century or so. So whilst the happy circumstance prevails: I meant it, you know?"

Her brow wrinkled in mild bewilderment.

"Arthur, I don't think…"

He released her arm

"No, let me finish, here."

He put the cup aside and patted her hand on his armrest.

"Now, where do I begin? Right: You do realise you are currently the Head of Law? That position is not being handed out at random? It is a great achievement, especially for someone your age. Stop squirming, Hermione." He said as he brought the cup t his mouth again. "That was just a reminder. Not really something I greatly care about as such, though I do love what you make of your influence and your dedication always has inspired warmest fondness in me. Right. Dedication. Not sure whether you're aware, but you are really, really bright."

"_James, I don't care if you have to bitch-slap Teddy: if you manage to drop that quaffle one more time, I'll shove my broom up your…"_

Arthur gestured towards the window through which a voice that was most certainly not her daughter's had just poured its sweet magic.

"Your children. Your wonderful, lovely, infuriating, brilliant children – it will a be a marvel to behold their progress through the world. Such big, huge hearts, the both of them. Bigger gobs, mind."

Hermione shrugged. "I daresay you can blame your son for that one."

"Rubbish, Hermione. You have your opinions and you roll them down a mean streak that is about a mile wide, if need be."

Passing her his cup, he added "That's not always a bad thing, y'know? First of all, I like a mean streak – wouldn't have gone for the old girl if I didn't."

Hermione spluttered into the whiskey cup.

"Secondly, you use yours with reason. You care – _so_ much – about elves and werewolves and centaurs and the "Social integration of the non-magical family background" – there, I learned my vocabulary. Takes a hardy person to fight for such things. I say that with all my authority as head of Misuse of Muggle artefacts. You're one of the most kind-hearted persons to have ever graced this house. I mean, we're all a bit barbaric. Can't not be with six boys and a medium-sized spitfire in the house. You've always cared. When you adopted that ghastly cat - his mentally deprived soul rest in peace.", he added when Hermione gave him a slightly reproachful look.

"When you were laying into Percy about house elves and his "blind obedience". I remember Ginny writing home during her second year about most girls from her year giving her a wide berth, and good riddance to them and, really, she always sat with you in the common room anyways and apparently you would give a – I think the term was "All-mighty stink-eye of doom" to anybody who was talking behind their hands. I believe that was the same year you slapped young Malfoy around the face."

"Oh, God. Ron told you about that?"

"Judging from the way he raved on about it all summer, it must have been the single most arrestingly glorious thing he had ever seen in his life." Arthur grinned and leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. "I had a feeling his preoccupation was only a preview of events to come."

A wrinkled nose greeted that statement. "Get off it, Arthur."

The cup switched hands again.

"Well, you're muggle-born. I had a hoover in the shed I couldn't figure out. A man can dream, sweet pea."

"Oh my god, I remember that hoover. I spent my first day here before the World Cup trying to explain why its name was Henry."

"Frankly, the concept escapes me to this day, Hermione."

"Well, I still can't wrap my head around blood pops, so I suppose we're even."

They settled back into a comfortable silence. Hermione split the Prophet, handed him the international affairs section to busy herself with the Ministry Monitor column. Arthur watched warmly as, after just a few seconds, her brow wrinkled. His chuckle drew her attention.

"What now?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, I'm just in a nostalgic mood it seems. I remember this bushy haired, fast-tongued, sharp ball of indignation. I remember summers where I seemed to forever find you crammed away in every corner of this house with a ledger big enough to squash you and, I mean" he gestured at her "Look at you. You're still here. Such a brood of my own, and I'm blessed with extra children on the side. You're a blessing."

Hermione eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "That's certainly the first time anyone's called me that. Other b-words come to mind. I'm having second thoughts on that firewhiskey, Arthur."

The international affairs section slid off his lap and flopped to the ground.

"See, we just cannot have you say such things. You know how Ron used to introduce himself as a child?"

"No, but I'm willing to bet it was appropriate."

"He'd say: "I'm just Ron." Arthur sighed. "Ginny always went "Ginevra Molly Weasley, and don't you forget it.". The twins had a song. But Ron was always "Just Ron.". It broke my heart. Here was such a funny, quick little fellow, the first to throw a fistful of sand when somebody got to close to his baby sister. He could stand up, alright, but never for himself. I'm afraid he went a bit underfoot. And I did worry about him, a lot." He pointed his chin towards a rickety old chess set next to the fireplace.

"We were sat right there when he told me he would ask you to marry him. Sitting there, my boy looking at me with such… certainty. I realised this man would be fine. And that, Hermione, was not because of war, or funerals, or even maturity – judging from how I saw him play "stop hitting yourself" with his own daughter this morning, I don't think we've crossed that bridge, yet. It was because of you. You, Harry and Ron. You raised yourselves, you raised one another. I'm not proud of that. Put I'm proud of you."

With twin pops, Ron and Harry apparated onto the hearthrug, carrying with them the scent of grass and half a wheelbarrow of dirt ingrained into their jeans.

"A_HA_!", Harry exclaimed in triumph, pointing. "This is where you were hiding!"

"The lounge! How very cunning!" Ron supplied. All grin and sunburnt nose, he shuffled towards her. "Mi, it's a gorgeous day out, come get some…" now crouched in front of her, he noticed her slightly misty eyes and stopped short, voice crashing down to normal inside levels. "Hermione, are you all right?", a sideways glance darting at his father.

Hermione grinned back. "I am… wonderful. Never you fuss, you big oaf."

Registering his father's nod of confirmation, Ron rubbed his hands.

"Well, in this case… Sorry Madam, Auror's orders." and he wrapped his arms around Hermione's middle, hoisting her up over his shoulder.

"Ron, what are you.. RON, put me down, RON, THESE ARE OFFICE CLOTHES."

Not paying his struggling wife any heed, he straightened up and turned towards Harry.

"Where were we, Captain Potter?" he boomed in a clipped voice.

"Sun, Captain Weasley. The beneficial effects thereof. Vitamin D. Endorphins. A sexy tan. How we think our head of Department might profit from such effects." Harry retorted in equally efficient staccato.

"I'm coming. Put me down.", Hermione squealed.

Ron sighed mournfully. "'Fraid can't do so, Madam Weasley. Your safety must be guaranteed at all times. Best to keep you close by. Cannot endanger the mission of getting you out of this work attire and into the pond."

"Ron, if you get me anywhere near the bloody pond, I will…"

"Love me most sincerely, I know, love." He turned to his father. "Comin', Dad? Hugh wants help with his skateboard. Hovering charm needs calibration, he says."

Arthur smiled. "Tell him I'll be there in a tick." he extended his cup "Need to finish my tea.".

Ron winked and they left the room. From the hall, Arthur could hear Hermione call.

"Thanks Dad."

"Yeah, thanks Dad!" the men echoed as they filtered out the door ("Ron, my head!").

"What are we thanking him for?" Harry asked, giddily.

"Dunno, don't care. Can't do it often enough, though." Came Ron's answer, their voices trailing off as they trudged away from the house.

Arthur watched them go through the window. He smiled when Ron set Hermione down halfway up the hill and promptly received an affectionate clip around the side of his head.

Yes. He had every reason to be proud.


End file.
